


Can't Sleep Love

by Yesthatsmynaturalcolour



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Major Character Injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-07
Updated: 2015-09-07
Packaged: 2018-04-19 12:14:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4746140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yesthatsmynaturalcolour/pseuds/Yesthatsmynaturalcolour
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The room is silent, completely silent. No sounds but his own heavy breathing, and he should hear Andy’s breathing as well. Should hear his quiet sleeping noises. He doesn’t feel the extra weight in the bed meaning someone is in it with him. Frowning and spreading his hand across the sheet. The bed’s warm but that doesn’t mean anything, it could be from his own body.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Can't Sleep Love

Pete considers himself talented, he can write some pretty good song lyrics, play the bass, he manages his band really well. All good things when it comes to his career, there are a few things he’ll count himself out in the talent department though. Sleep being one of them, he had the worst sleep cycle, if he even slept at all that night at all. He’d go days with less than an hour or two of sleep between them, staying up into the late night. He wasn’t a heavy sleeper, he wasn’t a light sleeper. He was just….a weird mix of both where he’d be dead to the world and awake instantly a few seconds later. It was hard on tour, to be on the bus all night hitting potholes that jerked him awake and kept him from falling asleep.

It changes, a lot, when Andy becomes something more in his life. More than a friend, more than the weird thing they had in the early days. Where they’d kiss, and fuck, and yet…never talked about it in the right way. Never dealt with it and shit was confusing and they never saw one another when the band was on break between tours. They finally shoved everything back and around and figured themselves out during the hiatus. Fuck the press, fuck everything. They were together, and Pete couldn’t honestly believe it sometimes. Sleeping changed though, as it does when dating and moving in with someone. Pete would get dragged into bed by Andy, the other sometimes flopping to lay all over him so he had no choice but to lay there. Of course there were impossible nights, where Pete would give up and crawl away once Andy was asleep, but. He slept a little more now, or at least spent a little more time in bed. Watching Andy curled against him until he wakes in the morning.

So when he opened his eyes, looking at the pale walls and paintings on his walls. He wasn’t really all to surprised to be awake, it wasn’t out of the ordinary to be awake. He takes a moment, letting everything catch up and process before moving. He checked his phone, 3am, three or two hours of sleep. Not good, but not the worst he’s done so he’ll take it. Yawning and looking around the room. The windows are shut, the blackout curtains pulled tight making the room way too dark to really see anything. He yawned, closing his eyes and relaxing a little. Rolling around in the bed a bit and his eyes snap open again.

The room is silent, completely silent. No sounds but his own heavy breathing, and he should hear Andy’s breathing as well. Should hear his quiet sleeping noises. He doesn’t feel the extra weight in the bed meaning someone is in it with him. Frowning and spreading his hand across the sheet. The bed’s warm but that doesn’t mean anything, it could be from his own body. He couldn’t go back to sleep though, not without knowing what Andy got up to do. The bathroom light was off, the door wide open so it wasn’t that. He sat up stretching out and climbing out of bed phone tight in hand. Andy’s phone is still hooked up at the nightstand, green light saying it was charged fully now and to unplug it, meaning he didn’t get up because of a call, wasn’t on the phone with Fuck City or something. He nudged the door open to the hall, squinting at the dull light filling the rooms. The kitchen light was on, but not all of them giving it a dim glow. He padded down the hall, running his fingers through his hair making a face at the gel stuck in it. There was a slam, like Andy had shut a cabinet to hard and Pete wondered what the hell Andy was doing in there kitchen at 3am when there was a noise. Not a cabinet again, not Andy opening something but a pained moan that made his breath lodge up in his throat. Maybe Andy woke up, wasn’t feeling well….

“Andy?” He calls softly, there’s no answer and he bites his lip twisting his phone in his hands and walking carefully into the kitchen. The brightness hits him hard, and he blinks a few times to get his eyes to adjust to it all. He’s not a hundred sure what he expected, maybe Andy at the island or standing in the kitchen. Andy’s on the floor in front of the kitchen sink, slumped over between lying down and sitting up against it. He’s got his hand wrapped around the handle of the sink, trying to pull himself up from the ground.

The cabinet door explains the thud Pete heard seconds ago, but the thought barely registers before he is hurrying forward and drops to his knees beside the younger man. Andy’s face is a pained grimace and he has his free hand pressed tightly against his forehead. It’s the blood that’s running out between Andy’s fingers and down his hand mixing with the colorful tattoos and staining the shirt he stole from Pete that sends Pete’s pulse skyrocketing. Andy wasn’t…shouldn’t be bleeding like this at all. Not ever, he should be sleeping, laying in bed with Pete. He’s careful, helping Andy get what he was aiming for and helping him sit leaning him against the cabinets. There’s so much blood, so much smeared where Andy had been clearly trying to get up, there’s some on the corner of the counter and he’s kind of able to put it together but fuck.

“Andy…shit fuck Andy what happened?” He was freaking out, and Andy just lets go the handle slipping from his bloody hand to the other, over the wound and whimpering softly in pain. He doesn’t give any response to Pete and he feels sick. “Baby…let me see okay?” He soothes, and Andy puts up a slight struggle when Pete touches his hands, moving them away from his face. He can feel the others pulse, fast and racing under his fingers. “I’ve got it okay? Let me see?” He’s careful, wrapping around Andy’s wrists and getting his hands away.

Andy doesn’t say anything, his hands shaking against Pete, but he lets Pete move his hands. Lets him take a look at his face and fuck there’s so much blood. He’s not a fucking doctor but he can tell when something means hospital and not slap a bandaid on it. It’s running all over his face matted in his eye, and hair, even his beard. It’s just all over him, his hands may of spread some of it around while he pressed against the wound but it’s also bleeding so much. He lets go reaching up on the counter for the paper towels. It’s not a bandage, or even a towel, but it’ll work. He ignores his own shaking hands, tugging the paper free and wadding it up to a good thickness. He just…needs to get Andy to a hospital.

He’s careful, placing it on the other’s face and letting Andy press against it himself again. Watching the red flow through the white paper and spread out staining it.

“Here baby here, keep pressure on that for a moment, will you? Just for a second okay?” Andy’s got it and Pete moves away for a second, Andy’s panicked grey eye snapping up to look at him like he’s going to leave him to die bleeding on this floor or something.

“Where are you going?” It’s the first thing Andy’s said, and it sounds so terrified and pain filled all at once that Pete feels sick again. Wishes they weren’t alone in the house, or that this hadn’t happened at all because he needs to call but he doesn’t want to leave Andy.

“I’m going to call an ambulance….I..I can’t drive you like this, you need a doctor…” He’ll kill them both if he tries to drive and focus on Andy all at once, he can’t, this is faster through LA, they can make sure Andy’s okay. “Okay? That’s it..” Andy doesn’t protest, just watches him scramble to pick his phone up from the floor where he dropped it and The call to 911 is mercifully short, and assured that help is on the way, he tells the EMT’s to just come in and quickly moves to unlock there front door returning to Andy’s side. He’s just sitting, pressing the paper towels on his face and blinking tiredly up at Pete as he comes back.

“The ambulance will be here in about ten minutes babe…..How are you feeling?” Simple question right? He’s not fine, but the questions more directed at the head wound and if he was going to pass out or something or throw up and if Pete needed to do something. 

“’m okay,” Andy mumbles, but his voice is muffled, weak and less than convincing and he hates it, wishes it sounded soft and strong as always so he could at least pretend. Pete sinks to the floor beside him and almost automatically wraps his arm around Andy’s shoulder and relieves Andy from the task of pressing the paper towel against his forehead. Andy sags against him with a little sigh, and Pete lets him holding him a little tighter and breathing deeply trying to keep himself calm. He makes sure to keep Andy’s head steady, though, because quite frankly he has no idea how the hell Andy ended up bleeding on the kitchen floor in the first place and how bad his injuries really are. “My head hurts.” He whispered, and Pete couldn’t help but laugh softly.

“I”m sure it does…..Can you tell me what happened?” Keeping him talking was good right? That’s what he was suppose to do.

“I don’t know,” Andy rasps out, and he weakly reaches for Pete’s arm and wraps his fingers around his wrist. He probably smears even more blood on Pete’s skin, but Pete is beyond caring, theres too much. To much of Andy’s blood everywhere for him to care about anything besides Andy right now.

“I went to the fridge…for water, I think,” Andy continues, fingers tightening even more around Pete’s arm. “I must have slipped on something…hit my head I don’t know, I think. I…I’m not sure. Sorry.” Pete rubs his arm, soothing.

“It’s okay.” Andy probably got up to get a drink, tripped or slipped on something and hit his head on the counter. It happened to people all the time, everyday everywhere probably. Not Pete though, not to them. He’d seen Andy hurt maybe once or twice physically and anything else that might count was all working out inflicted. Nothing like this thought, nothing at all like this and his stomach was turning harsh against him right now. Trying not to freak out. What if he’d never woken up? What if he’d slept through the night, rare, but it’s been known to happen. Would he have woken up to Andy dead on his fucking kitchen floor? Or almost dead because he laid on the floor all night bleeding out and Pete hadn’t woken up to help him? It’s a horrible thought that he knows he’d never forgive himself for, knows if he’d walked out and Andy was there. Laying, god.

Almost unconsciously he pulls Andy closer and rests his forehead against the back of Andy’s head. He’s overreacting, he knows that, and he really needs to get a grip on himself because Andy doesn’t need him to panic right now. He did wake up, after all, and that’s the main thing. Andy wasn’t unconscious after his fall, either; he could have called for Pete once he realized that he couldn’t get up on his own could’ve yelled for Pete and woken him up for help. Andy is fine, he’s talking. He even joked his head hurt, he’s fine. He’s here, and there’s help on it’s way and he can’t lose it. Not right now. He’s sure there’ll be a time for him to lose it later.

Andy is going to be fine. A few stitches, a bandage, and he’ll be home in no time. It’s going to be fine. Pete’s got this, he can handle this, can handle it. Andy’s fine, he’s going to be fine.

Where the hell is that ambulance?

Pete is tempted to peek under the bandage to see if the bleeding has stopped maybe he was making it all out to be worse than it was and everything was fine, but he doesn’t quite dare to ease the pressure just yet. By now Andy’s is holding on to Pete’s forearm with both hands, fingers digging into his skin so much that it almost hurts nails scraping the skin lightly. It’s the only sign of strength he’s displaying, though which for Andy is pretty terrifying. He’s slumped against Pete’s chest, and Pete can feel the tremors coursing through him. He’s shivering, Pete realizes. He’s wearing one of the old shirts Pete had tucked away, one of Gabes, and a pair of shorts. The tiles cold against his thighs and he’d been so focused on Andy he hadn’t even noticed. He’d leave, grab a blanket off the back of the couch, something but he’s too nervous to leave Andy. Holding him a little tighter. He’s stopped talking, and Pete can’t think of anything to say. Can’t just ask how his gaming went last night while he’s bleeding on the floor.

Andy just shivers against him and makes soft pained noises, Pete tries to soothe him the best he can but there’s nothing he can do and he feels so out of depth right now.

“Mr.Wentz?” He nearly jumps catching himself because doing so would jerk Andy, but thank fuck it’s the EMTs.

“We’re in the kitchen,” he calls back, and though he tries to keep his voice down as much as he can and still be heard, Andy flinches against him anyway though. Pete squeezes his shoulder in apology, relieved that someone with more medical knowledge is going to be here to look after him now, make sure he’s okay and get him the help he needs. There in front of him in a second, and he looks up at them.

The EMTs take in the scene with no discernible reaction, which he’s sure it’s nothing new to them in LA, but there’s just so much blood everywhere. Pete touching Andy and something else, and just smearing it everywhere. Andy had made a puddle of it himself just laying there. God it must look like a shitty horror movie. Or, a real horror movie because this was Pete’s nightmare right now, and yet there acting like it’s nothing.

“Good evening, or morning.” Joked one of the EMTs said almost too cheerfully as he kneels down on the floor beside them. “My name is Oliver Sullivan, and this here is my partner Clark Lane. What’s your name, sir?”

In any other situation, it would be almost comical to hear someone call Andy Sir, ever. They never get called that even when on tour. Maybe by Limo drivers, but one of them is quick to correct them. Andy doesn’t this time though, probably in too much pain to really offer anything in that field to correct him. Pete almost comments but realizes it’s really not the time or place.

“Andy.” He mumbles, his voice is weak and dazed and Pete’s wondering if he’s going to pass out on him by the look on his face.

“Hello Andy. Can you give me the last name to go with that? Our administration really hates it when we leave blank fields in the paperwork, makes them work extra hard and they don’t like that.” Andy relaxes a little, the tones friendly and maybe that’s the point. Pete’s not hurt, so it doesn’t sound fitting to him, but Andy’s probably terrified right now with blood in his eye and all over his clothes.

"Hurley. It’s Andrew Hurley.” He gives his full name this time, giving them a half smile.

“Okay, Andy.” Oliver smiles at Andy. “Can you tell me what’s wrong?”

“I stumbled,” Andy mumbled, and looked pained for a minute. “I…I don’t remember anything else. I was…getting water and stumbled, and everything hurt…” His fingers are tight on Pete’s arm again, instantly trying to remember and panicking when he can’t and Pete tries to offer the best physical comfort he can.

“That’s okay, Andy. Now, other than your head, does anything else hurt? Your neck? Or your wrists and hands from bracing the fall?”

Andy tries to shrug, the first real movement he’s made on his own, but aborts the movement with a small hiss of pain. “I…I don’t really know. My neck kinda hurts, I guess. Shrugging hurts.” He offers, just realizing the fact.

“Okay. Can you move your hands and feet for me? Just a little so that I can cross that point off my list.”

Andy does as he’s asked, and Pete feels an icy shudder go through him as he realizes that the EMT is trying to figure out if it’s possible that Andy injured his spine. He’s been trying to play this off as something small, just a hit to the forehead some bandages and he’ll be fine. He never considered the damage that could be under the skin that he can’t see. Andy could of hurt his spine and Pete’s shifting him around and making him sit up and manhandling him, fucking stupid.

“Any nausea or dizziness?”

“I’m a bit dizzy.” Andy says, a long pause between question and answer that had Pete panicking.

“Good. You’re doing great, Andy. I just need to ask you a few more questions, and then we’ll see about getting that gash in your head taken care of, okay? Do you have any allergies?”

“I don’t think so, no.”

“Do you take any medication? Prescription, over the counter meds, anything even if it was just something against a headache?”

“No…No drugs at all.”

“Good.” Oliver sits back on his heels and turns around towards his partner. “I need a c-collar.”

Andy tenses against him, and Pete finds himself wondering if that’s standard procedure or if the EMT suspects that Andy hurt himself worse than it looks at first glance. He doesn’t seem to be in any panicked rush, but then again as an EMT he probably does this every day, so Pete can’t really tell which is the case. The guys looking at a bloody mess like it’s just some guy he’s run into on the street.

“Now Andy, we’re going to put a brace around your neck that’ll stop you from moving your head, just in case you hurt your neck in the fall. It’ll feel tight, but it won’t interfere with your breathing, okay? Then we’ll put you on the gurney and take you to the hospital to get your head looked at.”

“Okay.” Andy whispered, watching them. It happens really fast, Oliver coming over with the neck brace adjusting Andy’s head and the collar. There moving Andy away from him, putting him on the lowered gurney and Pete watches. Watches them take Andy’s vitals, and grab real gauze out of there kit to press against Andy’s forehead. He sees all those things happening, but all that really registers is that he suddenly feels cold now that Andy is no longer leaning against him. He’s up faster than he thought he was capable of right now, and Andy looks so small. He’s always been small but in a nice way that makes you tease him a little, this is different. He’s got this small lost look, a large brace around his neck and half his face is covered in blood. Pete’s using the control he’s gotten years to manage to keep from just losing it. He steps up as closely to the gurney as the men’s work allows him to. He also sees them move, giving him space and understanding.

“Where are you taking him?”

“Cedars-Sinai,” Oliver replies. “I can’t let you ride along, though.” Pete wants to fight him, pull the do you know who I am card, something stupid anything he could manage but he stops himself. He’s not going to fight them to not only not be allowed to ride but be allowed in the hospital, and he’s half naked and so is Andy.

“I’ll get dressed and follow you” He concedes, and Oliver looks relieved that he gave in so easily. This is a good plan, get clothes meet them there, wait for news. He’s ready to get shit together change and floor it to the hospital. Andy however, seems to have caught on that Pete’s not going with him when the EMT’s move and Pete doesn’t.

“Pete…” It sounds so small and almost scared that Pete is ready and willing to brush aside all arguments as to why he can’t ride in the ambulance with Andy and force his way on board if he has to, protocol and appropriate clothes be damned fuck all. Fuck that guy, fuck everyone because Andy just sounds so terrified. He moves past Clark carefully taking Andy’s hand.

"I’m right here babe….I can’t ride with you so I’m going to get some clothes…I’ll be right behind you guys okay? I’ll be right there the whole time if you need me alright? There gonna numb up up and sew your face together and you’ll be my Sally in no time.” He mocked, Andy smiled at him, but there was still those deep nerves he could pick up on. Pete leans down, kissing his cheek the one not stained with blood, and then his lips. It’s all he can offer right now and Andy looks a little better.

"I’ll be right there.” He whispers.

“‘kay,” Andy responds and Pete steps back to allow the EMTs to push the gurney out of the room. Within a few moments, they’re gone, leaving Pete alone in his kitchen. There’s blood on the floor beside him, on the counter, on the floor, probably all over him and staining just about everything around the two of them.

It looks like way too much blood, even if head wounds always bleed a lot. Too much blood, and Andy lost it right here, at home. Pete thinks it’s okay to throw up now, but somehow he doesn’t. He washes his hands in the sink, scrubbing hard until the skin is red and raw. Scrubbing up his arms and everywhere he thinks there’s blood. He shrugs his clothes off in the kitchen, because like fuck he’s bringing bloody clothes into the bedroom right now. Dropping them into the sink and heading into the back room to change into clothes. He tugs on some jeans and a ripped up shirt, pulling on his socks and shoes and digging for Andy’s clothes. Finding some shorts, flipflops, and a X-Men shirt all acceptable things he thinks. He probably looks awful, and someone’s probably going to take pictures. It’s probably going to be all over tomorrow’s gossip mag. Drummer falls and splits head open in Pete Wentz home. He honestly can’t bring himself to care at this point in time, they can write everything in the world they want, because right now he’s a worried boyfriend whose other hit his head and hurt himself. Bled all over the kitchen floor at three in the morning. He grabs his wallet, and keys, Andy’s wallet to. Shoving them all into a bag and making sure to lock the door on his hurry out. He’s careful driving over. No need for both them to be in the ER right now. Finding a spot to park that won’t get him towed and heading inside.

The nurse is fast to catch him keeping him from going any farther into the hospital outside the front door and he’s handed a clipboard in response to his question about Andy. She shoves a pen on top of it into his hands and points in the direction of the waiting area with a no-nonsense expression on her face which clearly tells him that whatever he’s about to say is nothing she hasn’t heard before, and definitely not something that’s going to impress her in the slightest.

Pete knows which battles to pick, so he makes a tactical retreat into the nearest chair within plain sight of the nurse’s desk and starts to fill out the forms. It’s a mindless task, one that doesn’t require much conscious thought. It’s not too long ago he and Andy put each other down as their medical proxies, he’s known Andy for so long that none of this is new to him. It keeps him occupied for less than ten minutes, but even once he hands her back the clipboard, the nurse doesn’t seem any more inclined to give him information on Andy’’s condition than she was before.

“The attending doctor will be with you as soon as there’s news. Now please take a seat.” She says smoothly.From what Pete can tell, handing out clipboards and repeating those words over and over again to whoever approaches her desk for whatever reason seems to be the extent of what He’s doing here. Pete is sure that there has to be more to her job, but right now his world it too narrowed down to the thought that Andy is somewhere here on this floor, in pain and alone, and they won’t let him in to see him. He really doesn’t have any capacities left to worry about whether or not he’s misjudging some nurse’s abilities.

Still, she seems like the one obstacle between Andy and him right now, and Pete doesn’t see any way to get past her that won’t lead to the security guard leading him out of the building, and that’s not really going to get him any closer to Andy, either. No, all he can do is sit here and wait for someone to come out and tell him how Andy is doing, and knowing what Pete does about perpetually overcrowded emergency rooms, that could take a while. He wishes he could somehow do something to bump it up, or anything. There’s nothing.

No matter which way he looks at it, he’s going to be stuck here for the foreseeable future, and he doesn’t quite know what to do with himself. He’s normally full of lyrics, music, of thoughts and ideas that he can scribble away and occupy himself. He’s not used to being in this sterile white room panicked and sick to his stomach with concern. He’s not used to being so out of control over something like this in a long time and it makes him shakey, makes him sick more than he was before.

It’s a quarter past three on a Thursday evening….or morning, but Pete doesn’t even think as he pulls his phone out of his pocket and hits the number 2 on his speed dial. He’s about to bring the phone up to his ear when he sees the red smudges all over the screen and stops short. There’s blood all over his phone – Andy’s blood – because he didn’t exactly stop to wipe off his hands before he called 911 earlier. By now the blood has dried into red, crusty smudges all over the screen and back that will probably never come off again.

“Pete? It’s three in the morning…almost four…is everything okay?” Patrick’s voice is soft, exhausted but he answered. He always answers, which Pete is forever grateful for but right now his mind’s scrambling trying to figure out why he called, and what the hell he’s going to say. He’s trying to calm down not make himself more panicked.

"I think I need a new phone…..I…this one’s got blood all over it…It probably won’t come off.” He’s rambling, and he’s not sure if he’s suppose to be saying any of this out of context, which the answer is no because Patrick is up and he can hear lots of noise, his wifes soft complaints and him moving out of the room.

“Pete? What happened Pete, are you okay? Are you hurt?” Which in Patrick’s defense, Pete probably should be the one injured considering all the dumb stunts he does on a daily basis.

"I’m okay. I…it’s Andy….Andy..he. He fell. While I was sleeping and he’s hurt really bad and there’s blood everywhere and I…I don’t.” This rambling, incoherent mess is what he’s been waiting for really. He’s been holding it together pretty damn well until now, and rationally he knows that Andy’s injury isn’t life threatening, that Andy is going to be fine, but somehow his brain seems completely unable to relay those messages to his vocal chords.

"Where are you?” His voice his short in a tone Pete always feels forced to answer.

At least this answer is simple, something he can get out right now. “Cedars-Sinai Emergency Room.”

“I’ll be there in twenty minutes.” Patrick disconnects before Pete can tell him that He doesn’t need to get up and drive all the way over here in the middle of the night. Leave his wife and son and just come here for him. He’ll be fine, but then…he’s not sure why he called Patrick then if he was fine. Why he didn’t just sit and wait for Andy or something. Why he didn’t just take the time to clean his phone up and handle it himself. It’s too late now, Patrick’s coming.

He’s tempted to go and find the nearest bathroom to try and get the blood off his phone, but there’s no way he’s going to leave the waiting room before there’s any news about Andy. He’s not going to move just one inch until someone comes through those doors to tell him that Andy is okay. He’s going to stay right here.

So Pete remains sitting in that uncomfortable plastic chair, occasionally throwing angry glares at the nurse behind her desk. He finally puts the phone back into his pocket, because quite frankly it doesn’t really matter if another piece of clothing ends up with bloodstains tonight. It doesn’t help that even though he thought he thoroughly scrubbed his hands earlier, there’s still crusted blood underneath his fingernails, and no matter how much he tries to scratch and rub at it, it won’t come off.

He tries, though, and he’s failing miserably at it pulling at the skin and digging under his nails until seemingly out of nowhere a hand closes over his fingers and pries them apart. Looking up, he finds Patrick standing above him. Wearing a hoodie and some sweat pants. Looking like the kind of guy who just got a call at three am that one of his band members and friends was hurt, and the other was losing it. He’s glad it makes two of them.

“Hey Pat.” He says, and his voice sounds off to his own ears. Patrick takes the seat beside him, sitting slowly and Pete realizes he’s still holding his hand. Trying to keep him calm so they can talk.

“What happened man, what’s going on with Andy?” Pete gestures to the doors he can’t pass, to the treatment area where people are wheeled away to be helped and taken care of.

"I don’t know. They didn’t let me ride along in the ambulance, I didn’t see him after I got here.” He wished he’d he’d been a little faster, quicker so he could of gone into the building with Andy and reassured him that Pete came with him.

“What happened?” Patrick asks again, and Pete realizes he never answered the first time the other had asked.

Pete sighs and runs his hand through his hair. “I don’t know.” God, he sounds like a broken record. “He must have stumbled over something, tripped? and hit his head on the counter. At least I think that’s what happened. By the time I got there, he was already bleeding all over the place. And I have no idea how he’s doing now because Nurse Ratched over there won’t tell me a damn thing!” He gestures pointedly into the nurse’s direction, but the woman either doesn’t see it or decides to ignore him. Patrick squeezes his hand once more to draw his attention.

“If they’re still treating him, she probably doesn’t know anything about his condition, either. I’m sure they’ll let us know as soon as there is news. Did he…I mean, was he unconscious when you found him?” Pete can’t imagine how he’d react if he walked into Andy covered in blood, just laying there, not moving. He would of probably freaked out until someone else called the police.

Pete shakes his head. “No, no he was awake, and he told me his head hurt…” He laughed shaking his head. “He was confused…and not…all Andy but I didn’t expect him to be…He was just sitting, leaning against me, and rambling that he didn’t know what happened and he was hurting.” He rambled, and Patrick tried to help the best he can, running his hand over the others arm. “I almost didn’t wake up.” He whispered.

“But you did.” Patrick’s quick to catch the train of thought. “You woke up, and were here right now. He’s going to be fine. Andy can bench press the entire band with their instruments and on a stage probably by now. He’s not going down from a kitchen counter. It’s gotta be Zombies.” Pete looks up at him and hopes that his expression conveys at least some of his gratitude, laughing lightly and thanking everything for his friend. Patrick is an honest to god gift from someone to him, at all times, and right now Pete’s realizing this again.

"Thanks for coming, Patrick. I…I’m not really good at all this,” he gestures around the waiting room in an attempt to encompass the whole situation. Patrick smiles at him and squeezes his arm.

“That’s what friends are for, Pete….Andy’s my friend to….I’m fine with being here for both of you right now.” He’s glad to hear, he’s sure Patrick is just as worried as him for there bandmate, sure he was panicked to hear it was Andy the one hurt and blood everywhere, he’s good at hiding it though, at helping Pete right now and staying calm.

He doesn’t know for how long they sit there until finally somewhere on the other end of the waiting room a voice calls out "Family of Andrew Hurley?”

Pete is out of his seat and halfway across the room almost without conscious thought. The doctor who called out for them is a man about Pete’s age, with a dark moustache and a tired look around his eyes. He’s a Doctor at an LA emergency room, Pete’s sure he’s use to giving bad news like it was the daily weather. He waits for Pete and Patrick to approach before he shakes their hands, but Pete doesn’t have the patience to wait until the man starts speaking.

“How is Andy?”

“Good morning.” He’s saying, like Pete hadn’t asked at all. Probably use to panicked loved ones wondering about there others. “I’m Doctor Grey, I’ve been Mr. Hurley’s attending doctor after he was brought here. May I ask what your relationship with Mr. Hurley is?” It’s not a complicated question, but a loaded one. Pete could just say coworker, and not be able to see Andy and it would be a lie, but he’s seen people saying partner, and not being allowed to see them either in that situation to.

“I’m Pete Wentz. I’m…his boyfriend, and bandmate.” It’s the truth, and he feels by saying both one or the other may let him see Andy. The doctor looks between the two of them but doesn’t seem to react badly like Pete feared, just checking something and giving Pete a tired smile. Pete’s thankful for that. He can’t imagine having a shit Doctor response to this with everything else.

"Ah, Mr.Wentz. Mr. Hurley asked for you. You can go back and see him in just a minute.” Andy asked for him, meaning he was talking and awake at least at one point in time since arriving here. It makes him relieved, and panicked at once.

“How is he?” Pete is doing his best to be patient, he really is, but he’d better get some answers really soon before he explodes internally and everything else and just loses it.

“He’s going to be fine. The wound on his forehead required twelve stitches above his left eyebrow and the bridge of his nose, but it’s the only external injury he received from the fall. He’s showing signs of a very mild concussion, but we did a CT scan of his head to make sure that there’s no internal bleeding and the results came back negative. He should take it easy for the next couple of days, but he should be fine.” Concussion, and head wounds and all this stuff Pete forgot about, fuck…Andy could of been more seriously hurt…but. But he’s not. The Doctor said he was fine. Pete is sure the relief that runs through him is noticeable, he can handle stitches and concussions. Andy’s probably going to complain about the shit all over his face, but he’s not dead and he doesn’t have brain damage so Pete counts his blessings.

“Can I see him?” He can’t imagine if they said no right now to him, if they denied him this because it’ll destroy him more. Patrick’s a strong wall at his side he’s so grateful for. Keeping his hand on Pete’s arm grounding him right now.

Dr.Grey nods. “Of course. There’s just one more thing. Mr. Hurley is fine to be released, he’s expressed wanting to go home once or twice….however we can’t release him on his own. We recommend someone stay with him the next two to three days. To make sure no complications evolve and he’s being monitored properly…if this isn’t possible we can admit him here”

Pete finds himself nodding before Dr.Grey has even finished his sentence. "Of course. I’ll take him home with me and keep an eye on him….we live together.” Kind of but explaining Fuck City to the Doctor right now wasn’t needed in the slightest.

Dr.Grey nods. "Good. Now, Mr. Hurley is probably going to experience headaches; that’s perfectly normal after the blow to the head he received. He can take Tylenol, or any other over-the-counter acetaminophen against those. He shouldn’t take any aspirin or ibuprofen, though, and of course not more than the recommended dosage. No strenuous activities for the next couple of days, but he doesn’t need to be on bed rest. It’s okay to let him go to sleep if he wants to, but if he does so during the next twelve hours, rouse him in regular intervals and check to see if he’s still coherent. Otherwise he simply needs to take it easy for the next couple of days. Sit around and take a break while he heals” He wanted to joke, that Andy wasn’t going to be to happy about the not working out or able to play drums or anything like that, but he can’t bring himself to. He just honestly want’s to see Andy right now, to get this twisted knot out of his stomach.

“Is there anything I need to watch out for? I mean, what if he gets any worse?” Because Pete is not particularly keen on a repeat performance of holding on to a semi-conscious Andy while they’re waiting for the ambulance to arrive.

“If he displays any signs of confusion, complains about double or blurred vision, or if you can’t rouse him properly then have him come back here immediately. Now, he might experience some nausea, that’s perfectly normal, but repeated vomiting is also a sign you should look out for. Generally, it’s better to be safe than sorry, and head injuries are nothing to be taken lightly. If he displays any additional symptoms you’re not sure about, don’t hesitate to contact a doctor or bring him back here. He should come back in eight to ten days to have the stitches removed, and a nurse will instruct you on bandage changes and checking the wound for signs of infection. Mr. Hurley can be released as soon as his paperwork is processed.” The Doctor’s words are terrifying on there own, that Andy could be fine, and then not. He can’t dwell on it right now, can’t let himself get twisted in what ifs.

“Thank you, Doctor.”

“You’re welcome. Now, if you’ll follow me, I’ll take you to him, and we’ll let you know as soon as his paperwork is done.”

Pete’s head is buzzing with all the information, and quite probably he won’t be able to remember half of it all once they’re back home, but right now all he wants to do is finally see Andy with his own eyes and convince himself that he’s all right. Patrick is here, and Patrick is not an incoherent mess, so there’s a good chance that he’s going to be able to remember the doctor’s instructions.

They follow Dr.Grey out of the waiting area and down a corridor until he stops in front of a curtained-off area.

“He’s through here. You can go right in, I’ll send a nurse by with the paperwork and to instruct you on how to change the bandages.” Pete’s full of relief, he’ll take all the paperwork in the world right now because Andy’s here behind the curtain and there going to get home and it’s going to be okay.

“Thank you.” He mumbles, looking up at the Doctor wide eyed and just really glad right now.

“No problem. Just remember, make sure he gets plenty of rest. That’s really the best for Mr. Hurley now.” He comments, the doctor nods at Patrick, and a moment later he’s already hurrying down the corridor again. Probably off to deliver more news, or treat the next person rushed in here. Pete takes a deep breath and then steps through the curtain that keeps him separated from Andy.

Andy, to put it bluntly, is a mess. Which is a rarity for him and thus making it all the more upsetting to Pete right now.

He’s pale, there is a square white bandage obscuring the entire left half of his forehead, and though someone apparently cleaned the blood off his face, he’s still wearing his blood-stained t-shirt and boxers. He’s sitting forlornly on the examination bed, but at the sound of the curtain being pulled open he looks up. Tired but alert grey eyes meet Pete’s gaze, and despite all of Doctor Grey’s reassurances, this was what Pete needed to see to be able to breathe again. The knot leaving his stomach at Andy swinging his bare feet on this little bed. His tattoos so bright on the white of the hospital.

Behind him, he hears Patrick gasp slightly, probably in reaction to either the blood on Andy’s shirt or the bandage on his forehead, or maybe both, but the sound barely registers. Pete drops the bag of clothes he’s still holding and rounds the bed until he’s as close as he can possibly get. Tangled up with Andy like he’s his legs and he’s fine with this, fine with this completely.

“Hey.” He frames Andy’s face with his hands and tilts his head slightly to get a better look at the bandage on his forehead. Andy leans into the contact with a tired contented sigh. “How are you feeling?” He rubs his thumbs over the cheeks, feeling the beard and stubble under his fingers.

Andy shrugs. “Kinda numb, and a bit dizzy. They gave me something against the pain, before…before they stitched me up.” Andy on painkillers is a rare, if not ever seen sight to Pete. He just seems limp right now, so compliant to Pete’s movements and hands. Andy raises a hand as if to rub at the wound, and Pete gently pulls his hand away by the wrist, a weird feeling noticing Andy didn’t even seem to pick up he was doing it.

“The good news is that the doc says you can leave as soon as they’re done with your paperwork.”

“Awesome,” Andy mumbles. By now he’s almost nuzzling into Pete’s hand and his eyelids are starting to droop. “I’m tired.”

Pete chuckles and shifts one hand away from Andy’s face to run it through his hair. “You can sleep when we get home, I promise.”

“Good.” Andy leans against Pete’s hand for a few moments longer, then he opens his eyes again and leans back. It’s only now that he notices Patrick’s presence in the cubicle and gives him a fuzzy finger-wave. “Hey, Patrick….is Joe here?”

“Hey Andy. You gave us quite the scare…and no, just me right now. I’m sure he’ll stop by you tomorrow once he gets the call on what happened…” Pete should of texted Joe, or something, but he’s sure the younger man will understand.

"Sorry. But I…” He frowns, then winces slightly as the movement pulls at his stitches. “How did you get here?”

Patrick smiles at him comforting and worried. “Pete called me….It’s okay. I was worried when I heard you were the one that hurt. I’m glad I got it from Pete and not the tabloids.” Andy makes a face, and Pete does to but they’re all thinking it. “Though it’ll be cool to see what they come up with tomorrow huh?” He aims for joking for now keeping the mood light, and the nurse comes in with papers handing them to Pete.

It brings a small smile to Andy’s face, but he’s swaying a bit on the bed now that Pete no longer has a hold on him. Images of Andy falling out of bed and splitting the other side of his head open right along flash through Pete’s mind – and really, he’s had enough of that for one day, and quite probably for a lifetime. He quickly steps up to the head of the bed and wraps his arm around Andy’s shoulder, writing with one hand and balancing the clipboard. Andy leans his head against Pete’s chest with a sigh, but keeps his eyes on Patrick.

"I’m not going to make the tabloids Patrick….no one probably even knows I’m here.” Which valid, they don’t tend to hound him to much anymore which is nice, and Pete’s sure they don’t even really know who Andy is without knowing the band. Mainly Pete gets followed while he’s out shopping and stuff.

Patrick smiles and pats his arm. “I’m sure you won’t be….how about Pete works on getting you home though huh?”

"Going home sounds good,” Andy agrees. Pete’s glad the conversations shifted, they can catch up and talk all they want later he want’s to get Andy home again, have him in bed wrapped up and just…with him. He reluctantly lets go of Andy and picks up the bag he dropped earlier. Handing the clipboard back to the nurse.

“I brought you a change of clothes.”

“And that is my cue to wait outside,” Patrick says cheerfully and reaches for the curtain around Andy’s bed. “Just remember – the doctor said no strenuous activities, and those curtains are anything but soundproof.”

Before Pete even has the chance to come up with a reply to that, Patrick has already pulled aside the curtain and left with a wink at Andy. Pete just shakes his head and pulls open the zipper on the bag. Andy watches as he pulls out the clothes tired eyes and confusion.

Andy tries to help, he really does, but in the end it’s a lot easier to manhandle his arms out of the sleeves and then pull the shirt off himself. Pete is careful not to brush against the bandage on Andy’s forehead, and once he’s done he drops the bloodied shirt to the floor without a second thought. There’s no way they’re going to take it home with them.

Getting Andy into the clean shirt is almost easier than getting him out of the dirty one was, and Pete decides that the boxers Andy is wearing are clean enough to just pull the shorts over them. Andy needs to get up from the bed to do so, and Pete is glad to notice that he seems relatively steady on his feet. It’s only once the shorts are up and he’s tied the drawstring so that they don’t slide off his hips that he starts swaying, he helps Andy into his flip flops trying to move fast so he can sit back down. It felt like he was dressing a child, or his little sister. A bit strange when the person he’s dressing is the one he’s dating instead of those two things, but it’s over. Andy’s clothed and out of those bloody messes. Pete straightens up to find Andy looking at him, and the expression on his face is one Pete can’t really define. He steps closer and puts a steadying hand on Andy’s shoulder.

“What’s wrong? Are you feeling alright?”

Andy nods, his eyes never leaving Pete’s. “I’m okay. It’s just…”

Pete waits, but Andy doesn’t continue right away. “Just what?”

“Earlier, when…before you got here, when he was stitching up my head, the doctor kept asking me all these questions about how I fell.”

“So? What about it?”

Andy shrugs awkwardly. “I didn’t really understand it at first, but he asked me a few times if I really fell, or if there was something else I wanted to tell them.”

Pete has a bad feeling as to where this line of inquiry was going, he hates it. But there just doing their jobs and it’s rational to assume. Andy said he wasn’t sure, didn’t remember, and fell. Hit his head. They have no reason not to at least try and question, and he doesn’t take it to heart, Andy seems worried though.

“Andy…”

Andy only carefully shakes his head. “They thought that maybe I didn’t fall at all, that someone pushed me into that sink. That you did that.” He looks up at Pete, and the confusion on his face is absolutely genuine. Pete puts part of that down to the concussion, because Andy’s more socially aware than anyone in this band, he knows what’s going on in the world around them.

“They have to make sure, Andy. They can’t know what happened, and with the things they probably see here every day, I’m not surprised that they asked you if you really told the EMTs the whole story.” He didn’t even have the whole story himself. And judged by the fact that nobody tried to keep Pete from coming back here, they don’t seriously consider him a threat to Andy’s health. Which is a good thing, because he doesn’t really want to imagine what he’d have done if anyone tried to keep him away from Andy. He’d called their lawyers before anything and thrown a complete and utter fit about everything.

“I didn’t even understand what he meant,” Andy says with a shake of his head, as if he can’t really believe it. “Not until he outright asked me if someone else did that.” He shakes his head again, but when he looks up at Pete there’s a look in his eyes, gentle and just…Andy that makes Pete forget to breathe for a second. “I don’t…I guess It’s different, I know you….I could never imagine you doing anything like that.” Andy gives him a small but tired smile and leans forward again until Pete takes another step towards the bed and lets Andy lean his head against his chest again.Pete runs a hand through the short hair on Andy’s neck. Scratching his nails over the other carefully. He doesn’t move but he eventually mumbles from Pete’s chest.

“I really want to go home now.”

Still, he doesn’t move or shift away, and Pete doesn’t move, either. He holds him for a few seconds longer, and he might pretend that it’s for Andy’s sake, but in reality he is the one who needs this right now. Maybe, if he just holds Andy for a little longer like this, warm and alive and relatively unharmed, it’s going to chase away the image of him bleeding and half-conscious on the kitchen floor that seems to have burned itself into Pete’s mind.

He has to let go eventually, though, because they’re still in a public place with only a flimsy curtain shielding them from the gaze of whoever might be passing by. So he lets go, no matter how reluctantly, and waits until he’s sure Andy is sitting steady on the bed and is not about to topple over before he pulls open the curtain and looks for Patrick. He spots him at the nurse’s station down the corridor, and a few moments later he’s coming down the corridor in the wake of a nurse brandishing yet another clipboard for him to finish up signing.

It’s almost anticlimactic from then on. The nurse instructs them on how to change the bandage – don’t get it wet, change it daily, keep an eye out on the wound and consult a doctor if there’s any sign of inflammation, the nurse rattles off the instructions in a voice that manages to sound both incredibly bored and yet at the same time extremely hurried. Her instructions don’t sound difficult to remember, but considering that Andy is not exactly at his best right now, Pete figures it’s his job to pay attention so that at least one of them remembers these things later on.

Andy’s relief once he hears the words you’re free to go is almost palpable, but it’s just as obvious that he’s fading fast. For now, he still seems to be able to walk under his own steam, and judged by the determination with which he gets up from the bed it seems important to him to walk out of here on his own two feet. Still, Pete sticks close to his side as they make their way down the corridor, and with Patrick flanking Andy on his other side they make their way out of the hospital.

Patrick parked next to them, and he carefully lowers Andy into the passenger’s seat of his car making sure he was okay, adjusted the way he needed to be before turning to Patrick and breathing. He can’t believe he called him like that. That he panicked, but he’s still so grateful Patrick showed up when he did.

“Thank you, Patrick. I wasn’t really at my best when I called you…” Rare admission but he at least feels like he owes the other, for coming out here at 3am and staying with him.

Patrick raises her hand, and admittedly Pete is glad that he stops him before he rambles himself into a mess again. “I’ll call Joe tomorrow, tell him what happened…maybe call Bob to…get on saying something publicly before rumors start about everything. You focus on taking care of Andy and yourself alright? I’ll deal with the rest” He hugs Pete, tight and comforting and Pete holds back just as tight watching the other climb into his car before turning back to his own.

Truly, Andy is tilted towards the car door with his eyes half-closed, as if he had wanted to watch Pete’s and Patrick’s exchange before fatigue crept up on him unexpectedly and he dozed off. If it weren’t for the large white bandage on his head serving as a constant reminder of what this night has been like, the sight would almost be…adorable. Pete shakes his head as if to clear away that thought and watches Patrick leave, climbing into the driver’s side of the car. It’s time to take Andy home. He’ll worry about everything else later.

Andy is quiet for the drive home. He’s looking out the window, but Pete knows that he’s not watching the scenery as they drive by. He’s blinking tiredly, constantly on the edge of nodding off, and Pete thinks it’s a small wonder that he’s still awake by the time they pull into the driveway and through the gate and he’s a bit glad Andy didn’t fall asleep. He’s not some kid that Pete can just lift up and carry inside. He’s a grown man who weighs way too much, and it’s going to be a hassle enough to get his body inside right now. They manage by some stroke of luck to get inside, and Pete ignores the kitchen, passing it all to there blessedly dark room.

The bed is still rumpled and unmade, but Andy doesn’t seem to care as he lets himself drop onto the edge of the mattress. Pete helps him take his flip flops off carefully freeing him of them and looking up at him.

“You okay babe?” He asks, he’s drugged up, and concussed beyond belief but he has to ask Andy hums nodding and wincing.

“Yeah…I’m kay.” He mumbles shifting to lay back and in bed. Pete seriously doubts that Andy is anywhere near okay right now, but he’s no longer semi-responsive and bleeding, and Pete is willing to take what he can get right now. He tugs the comforter free and pulls it up to Andy’s chest while Andy shifts around until he has found a comfortable position. He needs to take care of a few things, or they’ll never get done. Patrick sounded like he was taking care of everything on the end of band related stuff. On dealing with probably getting it out there Andy had an accident, but was okay. As well as making some kind of statement about it. Pete was going to focus on getting the house cleaned and other things taken care of. Leaving the room to call his usual cleaning lady. He offers her way more than he normally pays her, to not only come in a day she doesn’t work, but clean up something like that. Offering her five times as much because he’s not touching it at all. He says all she has to do is that as well and she’s coming in the next hour.

Patrick said he’d call Joe to, so Pete breathes out. Everything’s taken care of, he can actually focus on Andy now which he was sure was the whole point. The other is still fast asleep when Pete comes back into the bedroom, but as Pete sits down on the edge of the mattress he mumbles sleepily and immediately shifts closer. He shifts until he’s sitting fully on the bed, his back against the headboard, and in less than a minute Andy is completely pressed up against his side, face buried against Pete’s thigh. It feels only natural to drop his hand to the back of Andy’s head and run his fingers through the short hair there.

When Andy only makes a content sound but doesn’t wake up, it’s a clear sign that he’s truly and deeply fast asleep. Andy is asleep and Pete is at the end of his rope, exhausted and with all his defenses completely worn down after everything that happened over the past couple of hours. That exhaustion is probably the only reason why he ends up speaking his next thought out loud.

“You scared me,” he says, and his fingers momentarily still against Andy’s scalp. “Don’t do that again.”

Andy makes another content, sleepy sound and shimmies yet another bit closer, nudging his head into Pete’s hand slightly as if to encourage him to keep running his fingers through his hair. He remains fast asleep, though, which is all the better, because he still has another half hour of sleep left before Pete has to wake him up again.Pete is just going to stay here until it’s time to wake Andy for his concussion check, and then probably stay the next three days until Andy’s himself again because he just, needs to. For his own selfish reason.

All in all though, Pete thinks as he starts running his fingers through Andy’s hair again, it could have ended a lot worse.


End file.
